


the restless dreams of youth

by owilde



Series: smalltown girls (80's violentine) [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (Telltale Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 80's, Bad Parenting, F/F, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Light Angst, Mental Health Issues, Romance, Slurs, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 18:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16046297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owilde/pseuds/owilde
Summary: You want to make a bet?” She repeated, mimicking Louis' lifted brow. “I'll bet you ten fucking dollars, I have the guts to ask her out.”Louis eyed her, looking vaguely amused by her antics. “Really?” He asked. “Okay, then. Ten dollars. And you have until tomorrow at six to do it.”





	the restless dreams of youth

**Author's Note:**

> And so, it continues. Couldn't help myself. This is set before "love me now and again", but can be read separately. The series will _not_ be in chronological order, anyhow, I don't think. 
> 
> Fic title taken from Rush's "Subdivisions", series title inspired by Bronski Beat's "Smalltown Boy". No one beta read this, and it went through some heavy editing - if a mistake slipped past me, apologies, and please feel free to point any out to me.

Small towns were pure fucking torture, sometimes. Violet kicked a stone further down the gravel path, her hands pushed deep in her vest pockets. She felt anger brimming just beneath her skin – it was always there, hidden away, but in times like these it bubbled to the surface and came out in bursts that left her feeling bitter and exhausted.

It had been her father, this time. He loved to stare at her critically, analyze her pierced lip and ears, her buzzed sides, her band shirts, and then make snide comments on whatever it was this time that he’d found wasn’t to his taste.

It was the stupid fucking Vixen shirt. _You listen to that kind of stuff?_ He’d asked, turning his nose up. _What’s that, a girl group? Can’t stick to Kansas like the rest of us?_

Yeah, maybe a part of why Violet even liked Vixen was because Janet Gardner was _hot_ , but that wasn’t the point. It was the constant criticism, the mocking, the expectations. And it wasn’t just her father, either – it was her mother, too, it was the cashier at Dollar General, it was a teacher, it was a classmate.

It was _dyke_ sprayed on her locker, it was her bike getting trashed, it was getting called after on the hallways whenever she was alone.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t take it. It was just that it made her so unbearably _angry_ , she couldn’t sit still anymore.

She reached the nearby woods and walked in, feeling her chest heave from held back fury. She couldn’t yell at her father. She couldn’t even say anything back, really. She had to sit there, at their dinner table, and stare adamantly at her plate as he stated all the things that were wrong with her.

 _Fuck_ that. She kicked a tree with her boots and let out a scream of frustration, feeling satisfied as it trembled and shed a few leaves. She kicked it again, and again, and again, until she was panting and drained, and miserable.

Violet slid down on the ground, her back pressed against the tree. She buried her head in her hands, trying to calm her breathing. She was shaking slightly, her entire body feeling weak and useless.

She just wanted to get out. Out of this town, out of this state – anywhere but here. The walls around her were getting closer, trapping her night and day alone with her bullshit. She had a year of high school left, and then she could flip Senoia off, take her bows and fuck off. The thought made her feel slightly better. She could do a year.

There was just a nasty clause in her leaving that made her heart ache. She’d leave everyone behind – Louis, Marlon, Brody… and Clem. Clementine, who’d only moved to their shitty little town a year ago and had, by some God given miracle, become Violet’s friend.

Clementine had changed a lot of things. She’d made Violet come out of her shell, had unknowingly coerced truths out of her she’d never told people before. Clementine knew almost everything there was to know about Violet, and she hadn’t shunned her for any of it. Clementine, who was smart and snarky and _surprising_ , and played goddamn fucking _baseball_ , which shouldn't have been a plus but it so was, especially now that Violet had taken to watching her games.

So, of course Violet had fallen for her. How could she not have? And she had to tell her at some point, before it became too much to bear. She didn’t know how to pretend not to hang on to her every word, pretend not to stare at her, pretend that she didn’t write mushy, dumb diary entries about her.

Clementine was everywhere, and Clementine wasn’t an idiot. Sooner or later, she’d put two and two together, and see through Violet’s bullshit.

But that day wasn’t today. Today, Violet could still pretend like everything was alright. She could go home and smile tightly at her parents, go into her room and stay up until ungodly hours, making silly mix tapes about songs that reminded her of her friends – mix tapes they’d never get to see, but which she treasured nonetheless.

Today, to the rest of the world, she was still the Violet who wasn’t head over heels for Clementine.

She sat still long enough for her breathing to get even again, and for her to stop trembling. She listened to the sound of the wind blowing, shaking the dry brown leaves still left on the trees, and watched as birds hopped from one branch to another.

She was jealous of them. They could take off anytime they wanted, soar the skies and go anywhere, leave everything behind. They didn’t have to worry about being an outcast, or getting a crush on their best friend. What she would’ve given, to just not have to _think_.

Eventually, Violet stood up. She pressed her palm momentarily against the tree bark, frowning. “Sorry,” she mumbled, and walked away, back towards the street that lead back to her house.

Her father was watching TV again. He didn’t look up as she walked inside, only called out a distracted “Hey”, which Violet returned half-heartedly as she made her way upstairs. Her mother was probably still at the grocery store – the bedroom lights were off, and she hadn’t been downstairs reading, either.

Violet closed her door as gently as she could, before digging out her Walkman and flopping down on her bed. She could feel a headache forming, and sighed, staring up at the ceiling as _Suburbia_ started playing, blocking out the sounds from the rest of the house.

She let her eyes fall shut and curled on her side, hugging a pillow to her chest. She wouldn’t cry – she wasn’t a crier. But it was damn near fucking close.

 

*

 

Clementine was late. They’d been supposed to meet at the library at six, since Clem needed to shower and change after practice, but it was now half past, and she was nowhere to be seen. Violet couldn’t concentrate on her homework, not when she was worrying like this and running a list of potential horror scenarios in her mind.

There was so much bad in the world. So many disgusting people. Violet didn’t like her odds with strangers, and knew that Clementine didn’t, either. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth and continued scribbling meaningless doodles in her notebook, all the while shooting occasional glances in the direction of the doors.

What could possibly have held her up? Something to do with baseball? Violet didn’t understand the complexities of the sport, but she didn’t think anything took half an hour to explain. Maybe she’d forgotten, but that seemed unlikely, too, because Violet knew Clementine appreciated these study sessions with her.

They helped her concentrate, apparently. Gave her a sounding board to bounce ideas off of, someone to roll thoughts over with. To Violet, the sessions were becoming an increasing source of anxiety. It was an hour every day, alone with Clementine. An hour of trying to do homework and ignore the way Clementine bit the end of her pen when stuck on a question, or dragged her fingers through her hair when frustrated.

She was so far gone, it wasn’t even funny anymore. Not that it had been particularly amusing in the beginning, either.

Violet still remembered the first time she’d looked at Clementine and felt butterflies in her stomach. They’d been quickly replaced with dread, because while she’d been sixteen and out and loud and proud, liking Clementine was real. Clementine was real, and right there, and her friend. Everyone knew you didn’t get crushes on your friends. It didn’t end well.

The butterflies had followed her around ever since, no matter how much she’d tried to suppress them, tried _not_ to feel like this, at least not about Clementine. It was fucking useless, of course – the more she repressed her thoughts, the stronger they returned, the more persistent.

Louis had been the first to figure it out. They’d been to a shitty house party, and Violet had been lounging in the kitchen, nursing a beer and feeling miserable because Clementine was dancing with someone else and looked _happy_ , when he’d waltzed in. Violet remembered Tears For Fears playing in the background as Louis had poured himself a drink, and then turned to face Violet, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“So,” he’d said, sipping his red plastic cup. “Clem, huh?”

Violet’s head had shot up. “What?”

“You like Clem,” Louis had said. “Right? Or have I been reading your pining wrong the past two months?”

He hadn’t been – Violet just hadn’t know she was that obvious. She’d sighed into her beer, eyes cast downwards. “Does she know?”

Louis had peered to the living room from around the corner, and shrugged. “I don’t think so. She doesn’t seem like the type to lead someone on, if she knew.” He’d turned back towards her, smiling a little. “You’d be cute together.”

Violet had scoffed, feeling bitter. “Yeah. Except I’m a miserable fucking dyke, and she’s a smart, straight baseball player with an actual future.”

Louis had looked at her curiously, and taken another sip of his drink. “How do you know she’s straight? You thought _I_ was straight, when we first met.”

But Violet hadn’t wanted to get her hopes up. It was easier to believe that she had no chance at all because of something that was out of her hands, than it was to accept that she had no chance at all because of who she was. What she was like.

And it was still easier to do that. Violet banished the memory of the party out of her mind and started doodling a bat with a striped scarf over where her equations should’ve gone. She’d gotten to drawing the fringes at the ends of the scarf when the doors were pushed open, and Clementine rushed in, slightly out of breath.

She made a beeline towards where Violet was and flopped down on a chair opposite to her, dropping her bag on the floor with a thud.

Violet eyed her, relief flooding her mind. “What took you so long?”

Clementine shot her an apologetic look. “Coach wanted to go through a new routine,” she explained. “I’m sorry, I tried telling him that I was busy, but...”

“It’s fine,” Violet hurried to say. “We’ll just have to work faster, I guess. Can you help me with math?”

Clementine gave her a wide smile that made Violet’s chest contract, and then they got to work.

 

*

 

Violet didn't get sports; didn't get the appeal of her father parking himself in his La-Z-Boy with a bottle of beer and yelling at the tiny, static-filled screen as if his comments could in any way improve the game. She didn't get school tournaments, or the Super Bowl, or cheerleaders– well. Those she _kind of_ got. But it was only because their choreographs were nice.

So, Violet had never been a sports kind of person. Had never really wanted to be. Which is why it was still so baffling to her that she'd had to go and fall for a jock.

“Vi,” Louis said, and elbowed her a little too sharply. “Watch, she's about to run.”

Violet's eyes hadn't strayed away from Clementine the entire game. Even from a small distance away she could see her frowning in concentration, looking as adorable she did when they were sitting in the library and she had her brows furrowed over a math problem. She'd tied her hair back, and fitted her hat over it, and it looked... well. Very nice.

Violet side-eyed Louis, before her gaze returned to Clementine, who was at base one. “How do you even know that?” She drawled. “You don't know shit about baseball. Or any sport.”

“I know plenty,” Louis protested. “I'm not just beautiful, you know – I have brains, too.”

Violet barked out a sharp laugh, shaking her head gently. “Then how come your GPA is about the same as mine? Which is to say, lousy?”

“Because you're smart, like me,” Louis suggested, “but we're both terrible with attendance? Because you're too distracted during class, daydreaming about Clem–”

“I do _not_ daydream,” Violet cut in. She felt her cheeks flush slightly. So maybe sometimes she got distracted in class because Clementine had these small, adorable ticks that she loved to make note of, and maybe she sometimes stared at her for a little too long and forgot to listen – it was fine. “I just– I don't. Okay? And who are you to comment anything, as if you don't drool after her, too.”

Louis grinned. “ _Too?_ See, you admit it. And I don't drool after her, thank you very much. If anything, I admire her academic and athletic skills out of an objective perspective–”

“Oh my god, you so drool,” Violet said, drowning out the rest of his sentence. “Do we need to have a fight to death about which one of us gets to ask her out?” It was only mostly an actual question. The mere thought of confronting Clementine with her feelings made her legs weak.

“No,” Louis said. “I'm pretty sure you don't have the guts to actually ask her.”

Something shifted inside Violet, an old competitive streak she thought she'd left in middle school but which was clearly still very much alive. She turned to look at Louis, who was watching the game with a small smile on. “You want to fucking bet on that?”

Louis looked at her, raising a brow. “Huh?”

Violet crossed her legs and turned her body fully towards Louis, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. “You want to make a bet?” She repeated, mimicking Louis' lifted brow. “I'll bet you ten fucking dollars, I have the guts to ask her out.”

Louis eyed her, looking vaguely amused by her antics. “Really?” He asked. “Okay, then. Ten dollars. And you have until tomorrow at six to do it.”

Violet hesitated. She’d banked on getting some time to prepare – a few days. Weeks. An entire fucking month, maybe. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Louis said. “Your classes end at three, right, and then she has practice. That’ll give you like, two hours. And she doesn't have to agree – you just gotta take the leap. Put yourself on the line of fire. Reveal yourself as the desperate les–”

“Okay,” Violet interrupted, emphatically. She glanced around her, but no one had turned to look at them. Not that it mattered all that much – she didn’t think there was a single person in their school who _didn’t_ know. “Okay,” she repeated, quieter. “Before six, tomorrow. I'll ask her out. Shake hands on it?”

They shook hands. Violet twirled back around to face the playing field, leaning her chin on her palm. Louis had been right – Clem had ran, and was now waiting to do the home stretch, bouncing slightly on her feet. Her eyes shot upwards for a millisecond, catching Violet's like she'd known where she was sitting – she flashed her a grin, and then she was back in the game, focused on winning.

Violet's heart did an annoying flip. Of course, she'd had to fall for a jock. Of-fucking-course.

 

*

 

Violet wrote a note, then crumbled it up and wrote it again, then got frustrated and decided to forget the entire thing. If she wanted to ask Clem, she very well could do it with actual words. She was tough. She was brave. All she had to do was open her mouth, and say, _hey Clem, funny thing, I really like you–_

“Hey, Vi,” Clementine's voice said from behind her.

Violet yelped, and stuffed her crumbled letters into her locker before twirling around. Clementine was standing in front of her, smiling. She hadn't changed out of her baseball clothes, but she'd let her hair down. Violet thought it wasn't fair of her, to look so fucking nice even when she was sweaty and exhausted, and by all means should not have made Violet's heart beat faster.

“Clem,” she greeted, attempting a nervous smile. “Hey. How was practice? Any personal records?”

Clem made a displeased face, and adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder. She’d painted her nails purple, Violet notice. It suited her. “No, not really. I was kind of off my game today, didn’t even do that well as a batter.”

Violet's first instinct was to worry. She hadn’t noticed anything off, but Clementine was as good at feigning wellness as she was. She frowned, eyeing Clem over again – she didn't look sick, or anything. “Why?” She asked. “What's wrong?”

Noticing her concerned look, Clementine let out a laugh. “Nothing's wrong, don't worry. Some days I'm just not at my best, it happens.” She smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “Nice of you to care, though.”

Before she could say something dumb – like, _of course I care, I have a crush on you,_ _for fuck’s sake_ – Violet rushed to ask, “Did you want to walk home together today?”

Clem nodded. “Sure, if you don't mind having to loop over to my house. I know it's not exactly on your path, is it?”

It wasn't even close. Clementine lived in the middle of fucking nowhere, far away even for Senoia, but Violet didn't mind walking the distance for her. “'s fine,” she said, turning to face her locker. A cut-out image of Winona Ryder stared back at her, smirking. Violet made a face at it and slammed the door shut. “I could use the fresh air, anyway, after today.”

As she turned around, Clementine was frowning at her. “Everything okay?”

Violet thought back on her words, and bit her tongue. It had slipped out thoughtlessly, like words tended to do when she was around Clementine. “Yeah,” she said, trying to amend her phrasing. “Just... a long day, you know. Chemistry was a nightmare.”

Chemistry had really been a nightmare, but it wasn’t that. It was everything that had been building up for years now, this sense of being trapped in a small town, gay and too different to fit into their boxes, too problematic and riddled with issues to be liked by anyone, really. It was the tightness in her chest, the slight tremble in her hands, the feeling of pure fucking flat she sometimes got.

Today had been bad. But she didn’t count bad days anymore, and she didn’t talk about them, because they were inevitable, and she wasn’t going to be a bother, any more than she already was.

Clementine didn't seem to want to let go of the issue, but she didn't press on, either. "With Mr. Henderson? I heard he's a challenge and a half."

They started walking towards the front doors, side by side. "You could say that," Violet said. "The shit he makes us learn, you wouldn't believe…"

The walk to Clementine's house was forty minutes, if you took shortcuts and didn't mind matching Clementine's insane pace. This time, they took fifty, and by the time they'd reached her porch, Violet was slightly out of breath, and really cursing her lack of athleticism.

They sat on the porch steps, Violet catching her breath and Clementine keeping her company. The sun was starting to set, already, casting everything in an orange hue. Violet glanced at Clementine, who was smiling at the sunset, and felt her own lips pull into an absentminded smile, as well, and–

“Shit,” she said, her eyes widening. “What time is it?”

Clementine looked at her wristwatch. “Ten to six,” she told her, rolling her sleeve back down. “Why?”

Violet’s stomach was a flutter of nerves. She just had to say some words. She could do that. _Hey, Clementine_. She knew about her, had been one of the first people Violet had come out to, but it was a different thing to be friends with someone who was gay than to be friends with someone who was gay and also had a crush on you. What if she’d think she was a terrible person, and wrong, and all these things she’d heard her parents say, and what if she’d want to stop being her friend, and what if–

“Hey,” Clementine said, softly, and put her hand on Violet’s shoulder. She could feel the warmth of her skin through her shirt, and it made everything worse. “Breathe, alright? What is it, Vi?”

Violet tried to take a breathe and hold it in, before breathing out. Her heart was going out of rhythm, her palms were sweaty, and _what if, what if, what fucking if._

“Clem,” she managed. Their eyes met, and weren’t they really the most beautiful pair of eyes Violet had ever looked into? Her hand was still on her shoulder, like a comforting weight, and she was smiling, but she was worried, because Violet was making _no fucking sense_. “Clem, I – I need to ask you something. Or tell. Or both, I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Clementine said, slowly. “Is it… bad?”

“No,” Violet said instinctively, then added, “I don’t think so. I don’t know. It might be.”

“Okay,” Clem repeated. “Well, what is–”

“I like you,” Violet said, quicker than she’d meant to and too mumbled, barely decipherable. She cleared her throat. “I… I like you,” she said again, slower. “And I just wanted to tell you that. I made this stupid bet with Lou that I’d have the guts to ask you on a date, but that’s… that’s a lot, so, I’m just saying – I like you.”

Clementine’s expression shifted into surprise, but she didn’t look angry, which Violet thought was a good sign. But then she drew her hand back, and Violet’s stomach dropped. Clementine wrung her hands nervously, looking down at the ground.

Minute passed. Clementine was biting her lip, not saying anything – Violet just wanted her to say something. Even that she hated her and never wanted to see her again, fine, but the ringing silence was unbearable to listen to.

“Clem,” she started, “look, I get it if you don’t want to be around me, or something. I get it.”

Clementine squeezed her eyes shut. “It’s not that,” she said, and then she was looking at Violet again. Her gaze was searching, and a little hopeful, and Violet didn’t understand anything, anymore.

“Then what is it?” Violet prodded. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Clementine huffed a quiet laugh. “It’s just, uh. Oh, I don’t… okay. I’ve been sort of dreaming about something like this happening, and I can’t really believe it’s actually happening. This is actually – okay.”

Violet frowned. “Something like this?”

Clementine looked up at the sky, and sighed. “Yeah. You, liking me back.”

The world stopped for a second. Violet blinked, tracing the line of Clementine’s profile, the freckles that were illuminated by the last rays of the sun, the slight pull of her lip into something that was almost a smile.

“… Back?” She asked quietly in a weak voice. “You like me, too?”

The smile widened into a toothy grin. Clementine laughed again, jittery and nervous, and buried her face in her hands. “I can’t believe this,” Violet heard her mumble. She lifted her head and looked at Violet, still grinning, still so fucking beautiful it took Violet’s breath away. “Yeah. I like you, too. How could anyone _not_?”

Violet could think of a thousand reasons, but she didn’t say any of them – instead, she reached out, and took Clementine’s hand. It felt right, like coming home – and maybe, _maybe_ this was what it felt like, to feel like you belonged, like somebody loved you without reservations.

“So, you maybe want to let me take you on that date?” She asked, not quite believing her luck.

Clementine turned back towards the sun that was dipping below the horizon. “Yeah,” she said. “I think I do.”

Violet allowed herself to smile, and squeeze Clementine’s hand. She allowed herself to shuffle closer, and press herself against Clementine. She allowed herself to feel peace.

And Louis definitely owed her those ten fucking dollars, now.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr from my gaming sideblog, [rachelcmber](http://rachelcmber.tumblr.com)!


End file.
